


you and i were fire

by fadeastride



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Coming Out, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-29 07:20:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6364669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadeastride/pseuds/fadeastride
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the first time in his life, he’s in Georgia. Which means he’s doing this. Which means this is real.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you and i were fire

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be fluff but that mostly didn't happen. Oops.
> 
> Title from "Fourth of July" by Fall Out Boy.

Long about the time Jack’s plane touches down, his stomach relocates itself to somewhere around his knees.

For the first time in his life, he’s in Georgia. Which means he’s doing this. Which means this is real.

He hauls his bag out of the overhead compartment and checks his phone.

_I can see your plane! I’m inside by the Jamba Juice next to the bathrooms._

He takes a deep breath and makes his way into the airport.

Bitty’s in shorts and a tank top, skin sun-touched and glowing gold. His fingers are flying furiously over his phone and Jack feels a fondness creep through his chest.

“Jack!” Bitty says when he looks up. He slips his phone into his pocket and flings his arms around Jack. “It’s good to see you.”

Jack hugs him back. “It’s good to see you, too.”

“Come on,” Bitty says, stepping back and tugging on Jack’s bag. “We’ve got a bit of a drive ahead of us, and I know my mother’s anxious to feed you.”

Stepping out of the airport, Jack is hit by a heat thicker than he was anticipating. Sweat is dripping down his spine in rivulets by the time they get to the car, but Bitty looks almost unphased, just a soft sheen across his upper lip.

Jack kind of wants to taste it, but not here. Not here. 

The car’s an old, well-kept Tercel, and Jack is thankful for its icy-cold air conditioning kicking on as soon as Bittys starts it up.

The radio plays some pop song Jack doesn’t know and Bitty hums along. Jack takes in his profile, the sharp line of his nose, the slope of his jaw, and wonders how it took him so long to realize how gorgeous Bitty is.

Bitty’s hand is tapping his thigh to the beat of the music and Jack slides his own hand over to take it. He watches the smile spread across Bitty’s face.

“Now, you watch yourself Mr. Zimmermann. I’m trying to drive here,” Bitty says, but his cheeks are pink and he’s still smiling.

Jack gives his hand a squeeze before letting go.

Bitty turns the radio down low and talks, tells Jack about the parade and potluck and his mom’s famous potato salad. Jack lets him talk, just listens to the lilt of his voice as it washes over him, and the drive to Madison passes comfortably.

Mrs. Bittle is in the kitchen when they get there, but she washes her hands when she sees them, gives Jack a warm hug.

She insists that he call her Suzanne and look on her face says it’s not really up for debate, so he agrees. He’s about to offer her the Falconers hat he brought for her when Bitty interrupts.

“Let me get a picture of you two, my goodness.” He’s already got his phone out. Jack smiles, caught off-guard as Suzanne wraps her hands around his arm. “This is gonna be my new background.”

“So, a little bird told me you’re into photography,” Suzanne chirps. “Jack, you want one on your camera with Dicky?”

 _Dicky_. Jack can’t hide his grin. “Oh. Only if Dicky wants to.”

“Oh my God, stop.” Bitty covers his face with both hands. “Mother, don’t you have a dinner to finish making?” He hauls Jack’s bag onto his shoulder. “Come on, let me show you upstairs.”

Jack follows.

“The guest bedroom is a bit out of commission at the moment, so you’ll be sleeping in my room. I’ll be taking the air mattress.”

“I’m not kicking you out of your own bed,” Jack protests.

“Hush your mouth. You get the bed and that’s final.” He says it fiercely, sounds so much like his mother that Jack doesn’t dare argue.

He tosses Jack’s bag on the bed and whirls around to face him.

“Look at you,” he whispers. He closes the door and pushes up on his toes to press a kiss to Jack’s mouth. “I can’t believe you’re really here.”

Jack slides his arms around Bitty’s waist. “I’m really here,” he says, and bends down to kiss Bitty again.

It’s better than their first kiss because Bitty hasn’t been crying this time. He’s warm and responsive and his hands are solid against Jack’s chest.

“I haven’t told my parents yet,” Bitty says when they pull apart. Jack nods.

“I kind of figured that when you said we’d be sharing a room.”

A laugh bubbles out of Bitty’s throat. “Yeah, I doubt Coach would let us if he knew.”

“Boys!” Suzanne’s voice drifts up the stairs. “Dinner’s just about ready if you want to come set the table.”

“Ugh, mother, I'm busy,” Bitty huffs under his breath and then, louder, “Be right down!”

Palms smooth over the wrinkles in Jack's shirt. “Okay,” Bitty says. “Let's go.”

Dinner is enjoyable because it's easy, even if shaking Coach’s hand and introducing himself puts butterflies in his throat. Bitty and Suzanne run most of the conversation, which is fine. Jack's content to listen, hum in agreement and contribute when he needs to, but there's something nice about the way things carry on as though his being there weren't some monumental event. 

After dinner, Suzanne shuffles them all into the living room and Coach turns on the last few innings of the Braves game. Jack has never been a baseball fan, but the way Bitty whoops when someone knocks in what turns out to be the winning run puts a smile on his face. 

They crawl into bed early and, for the first time in years, Jack doesn't set an alarm. They don't sleep, though, instead having hushed conversations about whatever comes up. It feels like all those times at Annie’s at the same time as it's completely new. 

When Bitty yawns for the third time in the same sentence, Jack reaches down, threads his fingers through Bitty’s hair. “G’night,” he whispers.

“Good night, Jack.” He sounds half gone already and it's not long before Jack hears the pattern of his breathing slow. He counts Bitty’s exhalations and lets the rhythm lull him to sleep. 

He wakes up to Bitty, hair in all directions and eyes squinted, sitting on the edge of his bed. Jack pulls him down into it. 

“Morning,” he says and drops a kiss to the back of Bitty’s neck. 

“Hullo,” Bitty says through a stifled yawn. “We should get breakfast.”

“In a minute,” Jack says, scattering a few more kisses across the back of Bitty’s neck and shoulders. 

“Mmm, or you could keep doing that. That's fine with me.”

Jack grins and scrapes his teeth over Bitty’s earlobe. “Breakfast sounds like a great idea,” he says and gives Bitty a push out of bed. 

“You're an insufferable tease, Jack Zimmermann,” Bitty grumbles, but he goes easily. 

The house is empty when they stumble bleary-eyed down the stairs. They can see Coach working in the yard and there's a note on the counter from Suzanne saying she'll be back around lunchtime. 

Bitty makes them pancakes, perfectly fluffy and round. Jack insists on using real maple syrup, not the artificially flavored stuff that passes for syrup in America. 

“What do you have against my American syrup, Mister?” Bitty teases. 

“You'll see,” Jack says and waits for Bitty to join him at the table. 

Bitty takes a bite and moans. 

“Oh,” he breathes. 

“Told you,” Jack says, bending in to kiss Bitty and lick the taste out of his mouth. 

The screen door slams shut behind them and Jack jumps back. 

“Well,” says Coach. “I can't say I didn't see that one coming.”

“Coach-” Bitty starts and his voice is strained. 

“I'm happy for you, son.I am. But I'm going back outside now.”

Bitty nods. 

“Oh, and tell your mother when she gets home. It's better if she hears it from you.”

“Yes sir.”

Jack exhales. “Sorry about that.”

Bitty’s still staring at the screen door. “That just happened. And. It wasn’t terrible? I was expecting, well. I wasn't expecting that.”

Jack pauses before asking, “Are you going to tell your mom?”

Bitty looks considering. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I am.”

They finish their pancakes and Jack dries the dishes after Bitty’s washed them. 

When Suzanne gets home with arms full of groceries, she barely clears the front door before telling them all about running into Bitty’s 4th grade teacher at the store. 

“She asked after you, wanted to know if you're bringing your pie to the 4th of July celebration-”

“Mom.”

“And I told her of course you were because what's Independence Day without a Dicky Bittle pie?”

“Mom, listen to me.” He sounds urgent.

She quiets and turns to look at him. “Dicky, what's wrong?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to tell you.” He takes a deep breath. “Um. I'm gay? Jack's. Jack and I are. Together.”

Jack’s not prepared for her starting to cry. 

“Oh, honey,” she says, wrapping her arms around Bitty and pulling him close. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome?” Bitty says, confused. 

“And you,” she says, turning to envelop Jack. “You be good to my baby, okay?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Now run along upstairs while I get these groceries put away.” She swats Bitty’s backside and ushers them out of the kitchen. 

The door to Bitty’s room clicks closed right before Bitty bursts into tears.

“Woah, hey, don’t cry,” Jack says, stepping into Bitty’s space. 

Bitty wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. “Oh gosh, I’m sorry. I just. I was so, so scared to tell them about us, so scared to tell them about _me_. I’ve been terrified for years about what they’d think. And I didn't even need to be.”

Jack tugs him in, presses a kiss to the top of his head. “They love you. They want you to be happy.”

Bitty huffs out a laugh. “Love doesn't necessarily mean a whole lot when it comes to being gay down here.”

“You lucked out, then.”

“Yeah,” Bitty says, curling his fingers into Jack's shirt. “Yeah, I did.”

“Now, go take a shower. We’ve got a potluck to get to.”

Coach and Suzanne are already gone by the time Jack and Bitty are finished getting ready, Coach’s big white truck conspicuously absent from the driveway. They load what’s left of the food into the backseat of the little Tercel and make the drive into town.

The potluck is at the high school, part of the football field crammed full of tables and the rest already half-covered in picnic blankets.

“Welcome to my own personal hell,” Bitty mutters under his breath and Jack has to bite his lip to keep from laughing.

“Okay, we’ll get this stuff set up on a table and then stake our spot for the fireworks. Here, carry this.” Bitty hands him a tub of potato salad before grabbing his pie carrier.

There’s an empty space on the dessert table that’s the perfect size for the pies Bitty made, and another space on a table full of sides just waiting for the potato salad. It’s tradition, Bitty explains, and everyone has their contribution to make each year. Sometimes things get switched up, but mostly it’s like clockwork.

They find an unoccupied area next to a canopy someone’s set up and they spread their blanket out there. Bitty tells him to stand guard while he grabs them some food.

People are milling around everywhere, talking and eating and chasing shrieking children. Coach is manning a massive grill, doling out burgers and hot dogs and bratwurst onto waiting plates. Jack takes it all in.

Bitty drops down onto the blanket next to him.

“You’re an honorary American today,” Bitty says and hands him a hot dog slathered with mustard. 

Jack laughs and takes a bite. “Only for today, though,” he says once he's swallowed. 

“Oh, we'll steal you away, just you watch.”

They eat in companionable silence, watch people playing touch football or Frisbee on the outskirts of the blankets. 

“Hey,” Bitty says, pushing up off the ground. “Let's go see if Andy’ll share that Frisbee. Come on.”

Andy is huge, taller than Jack, with sandy brown hair cropped short. He ruffles Bitty’s hair.

“Sup, Squirt? Who's this?” he says, sticking his hand out for a handshake. 

“Oh, this is Jack. He’s my.” He freezes, just for a second, before continuing. “He’s my friend.”

Andy squints against the sunlight. “Nice to meet ya, Jack.”

Jack shakes his hand. “You too.”

“Now,” Andy drawls. “Y'all wanna play some frisbee?” 

Jack doesn’t know how long they spend chasing that plastic disc, but his shirt is drenched and his hair is plastered to his forehead before Bitty announces that he needs a break. He sends Jack back to their blanket, promising cold drinks upon his return.

He comes back with a bottle of water each for himself and Jack, plops cross-legged on the blanket.

The sun dips below the horizon but doesn't take the heat with it. 

Jack presses the cold bottle against the back of his neck.

“Not meant for this heat, are you?” Bitty asks.

“Is anybody really?”

Bitty shrugs. “It’s not so bad when it’s all you’ve ever known.”

Jack feels like that’s true about more than just the weather, but he doesn’t say anything. The lopsided smile on Bitty’s face tells him Bitty’s thinking the same thing.

“You know, I hated this place when I was here,” Bitty says and takes a sip of his water. "It’s not too bad on the fourth, though.”

And Jack doesn’t want to know what happened here, the things that made Bitty so afraid to be who he is.

“Fireworks soon?” He asks instead. Bitty nods. 

Bitty lies down on his back for the show and Jack does the same. He can feel the prickle of grass on his back through the thin blanket. 

The air buzzes with the crack and boom of fireworks but Jack's spending more time watching the way Bitty’s face is illuminated by the red green blue light than he is watching the sky.

He hooks his pinky over Bitty’s, just to touch him, and turns his face up to watch the grand finale exploding over the field. 

After, they pack everything back into the car and wait with everyone else to filter slowly out of the parking lot.

It's not far to the Bittles’ house but Jack leans his head against the window and dozes anyway. Bitty shakes him awake when they pull into the driveway. 

“I hope you don't think falling asleep gets you out of helping me carry all this in,” he teases.

Everything gets tossed on the counter for night and Bitty and Jack trudge heat-tired up the stairs.

“I had a great time today,” Jack says once the door’s closed, and Bitty bursts out laughing.

“Oh my gosh, that’s something they say at the end of dates in the movies.”

“Well,” Jack says, “wasn’t it a date?”

Bitty’s eyes go wide. “Oh. I guess it kinda was, wasn’t it?”

Jack steps in, rests his fingers on Bitty’s arms, and kisses him.

He doesn’t thinking kissing Bitty is ever going to not send sparks down his spine.

Bitty tugs him back until they hit the bed, pulls Jack down to blanket him. 

Jack mouths along the line of Bitty’s throat and Bitty bites his own lip to swallow the sound he makes.

“We have to be quiet,” Bitty whispers, and Jack nods.

“I can do quiet,” he says and shifts until his leg is slotted between Bitty’s, rolling forward gently.

“Goodness gracious me, Jack, you keep doin’ that and this is gonna be over before it starts.” His accent is thick and Jack buries his grin in Bitty’s shoulder.

“You’d best not be laughing at my accent,” Bitty warns.

“I like it. A lot,” Jack says, a shade too honest, and Bitty’s face softens.

“Here, let me just,” he says, and pulls his shirt up over his head. He’s smooth and toned and Jack wants to put his mouth on every inch of him.

It’s still so overwhelming to know that he _can_.

He gets his own shirt off, savors the feeling of skin on skin.

They kiss for a while, soft, but there’s an edge of desperation just under the surface and Jack lets himself drown in it.

He runs his hands down Bitty’s sides, just enough pressure to keep it from tickling, and hooks his fingers in the waistband of Bitty’s shorts.

“Okay?” He asks.

Bitty’s flushed all the way to his navel and his eyes are closed tight, but he whispers _yes_. Jack works the button open and tugs his shorts and boxers down his thighs.

“You should, I mean, if you want to, you could.” Bitty fumbles his words, ears bright pink like he’s embarrassed to ask.

“Do you want me to?”

His eyes fly open. “God, yes.”

“Have you done this before?” Jack asks, not sure if he wants to know the answer.

“I, uh. Does it count if it was with myself?”

Jack thinks of Bitty, just across the hall from him, stifling his noises with one hand and working himself open with the other.

“ _Crisse_ ,” he mutters and Bitty looks embarrassed.

“Sorry, I just haven’t exactly had-”

“No, Jesus, I’m just. Thinking about it. About you, doing that. It’s.” Jack shakes his head. “I want to watch you.”

“Oh! I, yeah, we could do that. I could do that.” Bitty reaches over to his nightstand and pulls out a little bottle of lube. His cheeks are red but he looks determined, too.

He takes his time, lip sucked between his teeth, long fingers twisting between his thighs. Jack runs his hands over Bitty’s legs, whispers encouragement in whichever language will give him in the face of this.

The little noises spilling out of Bitty’s mouth are more urgent, louder, and Jack has to kiss them away to keep him quiet.

“Okay, okay, I think,” Bitty pants out. “I think I’m ready.”

Jack digs a condom out of his suitcase and rolls it on.

“How do you, uh, how do you want to do this?”

“I want to see you,” Bitty says, certain.

He pushes Bitty’s knees apart and settles between them, his own breathing rattling loud in his ears. When he presses in, he watches Bitty’s face contort as he adjusts. 

“Oh, Lord. That's. That's definitely different.”

Jack stills. “Should I stop?”

Bitty’s eyes fly open. “Jack Zimmermann, don't you dare. Just. Start slow.”

If there’s anything Jack is good at, it’s taking direction. So he does, sets his hips in a shallow roll and awaits Bitty’s instruction.

Bitty hitches his leg up higher, tilts his hips down to meet Jack. “You can, a little harder, I think.”

Jack puts a little more force into his thrusts, takes in the way Bitty’s breath sounds punched out of him with each one.

Even with the air conditioner on, the summer air is stifling and it’s not long before they’re both drenched in sweat and the sound of sliding skin permeates everything.

Heat is pooling low in his spine and he knows it won’t be long. He gets a hand around Bitty, works him in time with his hips, and Bitty bites his own palm when he comes. He’s beautiful, and Jack gets to touch him, and that’s all he can think as his hips stutter and still.

He pulls out slowly, wipes Bitty clean with one of their shirts before collapsing half on top of him.

“I don’t want to go home,” Jack mumbles into Bitty’s shoulder.

“I don’t want you to, either.”

“You have to come see me in Providence. The kitchen in my new place is, Bitty, it’s so great. You’ll love it.”

He can feel Bitty’s smile pressing against his hair. “Who says I even want to see the kitchen?”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm embarrassing [here](http://fadeastride.tumblr.com) on a daily basis.


End file.
